Joe found the usual group of gossipers in the store of the French outfit. Beside the two traders, there were two of the latest arrivals from the outside, a policeman off duty, and young Mattison, of the surveying party, who had ridden in on a message from Graves, and was taking his time about starting back.
Up north it is unfashionable to be in a hurry. Of them all only Stiffy, in his little compartment at the back, was busy. He was totting up his beloved figures.
Joe found them talking about the night before, with references to Sam in no friendly strain. Joe had the wit to conceal from them a part of the rage that was consuming him, though it was not easy to do so. He sat down in the background, and for the most part kept his mouth shut. Anything that anybody could say against Sam was meat and drink to him.
"Blest if I can see what the girl sees in him," said Mahooley. "There are better men for her to pick from."
"He's spoiled our fun, damn him!" said another. "The place won't be the same again."
"Who is this fellow Sam?" asked one of the newcomers.
"A damn ornery little cook who's got his head swole," muttered Joe.
"He kept his place till he got a team to drive," said Mattison.
"We kep' him in it, you mean."
"What for did you want to give him the job of teaming, Mahooley?" asked Mattison.